by Alexa Silver
But Cameron couldn’t concentrate on the outside world right now. All he could think about was the delicious dick he was touching and tasting.
“I’m gonna come,” groaned Fraser.
Quickly Cam took that delicious dick right down the back of his throat again and sucked hard, hollowing his cheeks for maximum effect. Instantly cum slid down his throat, so he let Fraser out until just his cockhead was in his mouth and he could more easily swallow all Fraser’s seed down.
Then he wrapped his arms around his man, holding him tightly.
Buzzing through his brain was “I love him. I love him.” Interspersed with, “What the fuck have I done now, loving a Campbell?”
Chapter 3
Fraser was so glad he’d taken the risk and made love to Cam. Now, finally they were beginning a relationship. He wiggled up onto one elbow, bent over Cam and kissed the tip of his nose, then his eyelids one after the other. It was getting much darker. If they didn’t walk down the hill soon they’d be likely to fall and hurt themselves in the dark. They hadn’t brought flashlights with them.
“Much as I’d like to keep kissing you and making love to you, it’s almost dark. We need to get back to the car.”
Cam grunted and stood up. They zipped their jeans up, collected their trash, Cam shook out the blanket, and they picked their way down the hill slowly and carefully.
“It’s too late to go to Urquhart Castle now. How about we do that tomorrow?”
Cam sighed and nodded.
Fraser waited for him to suggest where they went next, but when Cam remained silent, he said, “I’m hungry again. Shall we go back to the same pub as last night?”
Cam seemed to shake off whatever was bothering him, shrugged, and then said, “All right.”
Fraser watched him carefully, but Cam drove as competently as usual since he’d adjusted to driving here in Scotland. They parked near the pub and went inside, sitting at the same table as the previous night. Almost immediately some of the men who’d spoken to them before came over and asked, “How did your visit with Nessie go?”
Instantly Cam pulled out his cell phone. “Is this her?” he asked.
Cam’s cell phone was passed from person to person and a loud conversation broke out around them, becoming more and more filled with words he didn’t understand, and spoken in a fast brogue very different from the slower, more comprehensible way the people had spoken to them at the start.
Fraser gave up trying to understand what they were saying and relaxed back in his seat, watching Cam, and waiting for the crowd’s decision. Cam was excited, his face alight with pleasure, and Fraser was happy for him. He was thrilled at having been there to—maybe—see Nessie. But whether the tiny black dot was the monster or not was never going to be decided. Fraser was certain the locals would go for the idea that it was their tourist attraction in person.
More important was how to move their relationship onto the next level. Making love on the hillside had been wonderful, but genuine sex in a bed would be a hell of a lot better. That was his aim for tonight. Fraser was drawn out of his thoughts when the crowd dissipated and their meal arrived. The old man, Mac, thumped Cam on the shoulder.
“Ye did it, laddie. That’s Nessie hersel’ ye hae there.”
Fraser grinned at Cam’s smiling countenance. “Having ticked that one off your bucket list, what’s next? Urquhart Castle?”
The bright sparkle in Cam’s eyes died and his face went blank. “I don’t know. Maybe I should just return to Glasgow. Likely do some sight-seeing there.”
Fraser reached out and gripped hold of Cameron’s arm. “What’s the problem? An hour ago we were almost as close as men can be. That’s something I’ve wanted for us for months. I had high hopes that tonight we’d be even closer still. And now you’re blocking me out? Why?”
“Don’t touch me in public. It’s probably not safe.”
Cam’s voice was scarcely above a whisper but Mac and his friends were back, pushing extra chairs around their table.
“Och, laddie. Dinnae fash yersel’. The Scots are a modern people. Gay civil relationships have been legal here fer a decade and gay marriage fer over a year.”
“But I expect the Massacre of Glencoe hasn’t been forgotten. He’s a Campbell and I’m a MacDonald.”
Fraser started at Cam. “What has Scottish history got to do with us? We’re American.”
“Likely ye passed by Glencoe on yer way here. Ye need to stop there on your way back to Glasgow. The Campbells and the MacDonalds and the other clans all work together there. Naebody cares aboot the rights and wrongs of the story seven hundred years later. We all work together fer the good of Scotland the brave.”
“Aye.” The shout surrounded them and Fraser twisted his neck to look at a dozen smiling men all tapping their tankards of feral local beer together and drinking heartily.
Cameron looked around them, his face a picture of confusion. “So you’re all saying that Campbells and MacDonalds marry each other, and work together, and…”
“O’ course, laddie. Romeo and Juliet happened a while ago, ye ken.”
A heavy hand slapped Fraser on the back. “Romeo and Julio. Ha ha!”
*****
Cam held his bedroom door open for Fraser. Neither of them had said anything, but Fraser hadn’t continued up the stairs to his room on the next floor, which was called the third floor instead of the fourth floor due to some weird convention over here in England and Scotland.
“I really don’t understand why the second floor is called the first floor here.”
Fraser laughed. “The first floor is called the ground floor. Even if it’s not on the ground. I agree they’re weird.”
Cam locked the door and turned to face Fraser. “I do want you. I’ve wanted you for a long time and I’ve always known you wanted me too.”
“So what’s the big deal about the Campbells and the MacDonalds? And why that particular story? Every nation has its own version of the Romeo and Juliet story.”
Rubbing his hands though his hair, Cam shook his head. “My grandmother had a bitter hatred of the Campbells. She told my sister and me about the Massacre of Glencoe but whether that was the full reason or not, I don’t know. I don’t even know if my family will accept our relationship. Grandma lived with us and was a very strong presence in the house in my childhood.”
“And now you don’t know if your parents felt the same as she did or not. But we can deal with that. We’re talking about us. You don’t live with your family anymore.”
“I was stuck in the past. Until Mac and his friends began speaking I hadn’t questioned what Grandma had always said. I suppose it’s that children automatically believe the adults in their lives. I don’t even know if my parents agreed with Grandma. You’re right. We can deal with any problems that might arise. Times have changed and I’ve grown up. It’s time for me to claim my own future. I want you in it, Fraser.”
“Well thank fuck for that. I’ve wanted to get to know you better for so long I was beginning to think we’d never get together.”
Fraser pushed Cam backward and onto the bed. Cam made no effort to resist him. He wanted this as well. His man in his arms all night long. “There are condoms and lube in the bathroom.”
Fraser jumped off the bed, stripped his clothing off like lightning, and pushed the bathroom door open. In seconds he was back holding a condom and the tube of lube. “You might have been resisting me but at least you came prepared. Scotland might have legalized gay marriages but I’m not sure where we’d buy lube this late at night.”
Cam laughed. “Mac would know.” Cam was trying to watch Fraser at the same time as getting undressed. He was almost going cross-eyed with his efforts. All he wanted was to be in bed with Fraser. He’d waited so long for this, fought so many personal demons. And in the end Scotland had provided his happy ending. Scotland in spring.
He pulled Fraser into his arms. “I love you, Fraser.”
“I love you, too
. Otherwise I’d never have come here with you. I came for you, not for the Loch Ness monster or for the heather. Not even for Urquhart Castle. For you, Cameron MacDonald. Because I love you, too. And now I’m going to fuck you.”
“Well stop talking and do it.”
Fraser leaned forward and kissed him. It was a kiss full of joy and promise and love. It symbolized their future.
Thank you, Nessie and thank you Scotland.
About the Author
Berengaria Brown
Berengaria is an award-winning, best-selling, multi-published author of erotic romance: contemporary, paranormal (ghosts, vampires, fairies and werewolves) and historical. She loves to read all different kinds of romance so that is what she writes: one man/one woman; two women; two men; two men/one woman; three men, two women/one man…. Whatever the characters need for their very hot happily-ever-after, Berengaria makes sure they get it.
http://berengariasblog.blogspot.com/
http://berengariabrown.com/
The ShadowLord’s Arrival
Charlotte Boyett-Compo
Chapter 1
Fragile scents of honeysuckle, banana vine, wisteria and mimosa undulated through the late April morning. Sweet, tantalizing, filled with promise of a new season, the plants were riotous colors of white and yellow and purple and pink blending together to form a pastel palette. The spring blossoms lent an aromatic mystery to the air. As she sat on the rim of the bubbling fountain with her companion, Jordan Brell tried to identify the individual perfumes wafting around her.
“This is a good time for him to come to Sanctuary,” her companion stated. “It is so lovely here in the springtime. I am sure in his line of work he does not get to view such beauty often.”
“His line of work?” Jordan questioned.
“Mayhap I misspoke. I should have said his designation as a Shadowlord.”
“What exactly is a Shadowlord?” Jordan Brell asked the Custodian of Laws.
The old woman sighed heavily. “Trouble with a capital T,” she replied.
“With all due respect, Grand Mother that is not an answer. That is an observation.”
Smoothing the fabric of her dark purple robe, the Custodian looked out over the vast grounds of the Sanctuary. To Jordan, it seemed as if the ancient one was gathering her thoughts. When she spoke, her voice went from friendly advisor to instructor.
“You should have been in the classroom when I went over this, Jordan. I imagine you are the only Daughter here who has not been discussing his arrival ad infinitum.”
“Since I intended to remain at Sanctuary and take vows of chastity I saw no need to attend the Joining workshops,” Jordan replied.
“You could learn much from those workshops, Daughter,” the Custodian stated.
“Shadowlords?” Jordan pressed and watched the old woman’s lips purse in aggravation.
“Very well,” she snapped. “Shadowlords are Mages. They are beings with immense psychic proficiencies, powerful mages with superhuman abilities. When angered, they sometimes lose the abilities to control their powers. Those powers include levitation, the manipulation of time, space, matter and energy, teleportation, clairvoyance, clairsentience, astral projection, and precognition among many others. They draw their power from the Megaverse.”
“So very powerful, very scary men?” she asked. “Men to fear.”
“Not at all,” she responded. “There are three standard types of Shadowlords, each more powerful than the one before him. Shadowlords, Deathlords, and Ridgelords. Ridgelords are the only magi powerful enough to fight the Nikkeson, the all-pervasive evil of the Megaverse incarcerated at Prysson. Though they cannot kill the demon, they can send It back to Its prison in the Abyss. Ridge is an acronym for Rectify, Intercede, Discipline, Govern, and Educate. They are the warriors of the sect.”
“And which type is the one who will be arriving today?” she inquired.
The Custodian frowned. “He is a Gravelord,” the elderly woman replied. “The fourth type of Shadowlord and he as such should be feared, Daughter.”
“Gravelord,” she said and shuddered. “That doesn’t sound the least bit like husband material.” She tried to keep the Sage from seeing her trembling hands. “What makes him different?”
“Power,” the old woman said. “Or the immensity of it. Gravelords are the most potent of the Shadowlords.”
“What makes them so?” she asked.
“First, I should explain how these men become Shadowlords,” the Custodian said. “Therein lies the difference between them. It begins with the Black Ascendency.”
“Which is?” she pressed.
“The Black Ascendency is made manifest in the form of the Raven of Immortality. When It claims a warrior, that warrior will transmutate into a Shadowlord. Some warriors are chosen at birth to have the aptitudes bestowed upon them while others are granted their powers later in their adult lives. When a child is given such powers at birth, it is because of a decision by the Black Ascendency that such gifts will be needed by the child as he grows to manhood. Needed to aid humanity. To fight evil. The powers are rarely handed down from father to son so it is not a right of inheritance that makes a Shadowlord. Despite what one might think, when a son follows his father into the Ascendency of becoming a Shadowlord, his powers are not as strong as those of a boy who is given the aptitudes at birth, skills bestowed to protect him into adulthood.” The Custodian looked at her. “Do you understand?”
“I believe so.”
“A boy starts out as a Shadowlord and he may stay in that position. If he is a strong warrior and a natural leader of men, he may ascend to the rank of Deathlord.” The old one smiled. “That is not as ominous as it sounds. The distinction between the lower rank of Shadowlord and Deathlord is the ability—and willingness—to kill should the need arise.”
“I get the distinction,” she said.
“Now a Ridgelord—by the mere title—is more of an educator, a disciplinarian, a governor if you will. As a primary rule, he is tasked to run the prisons, the mental institutions and clandestine operations of the Megaverse.”
“Such as the Baybridge Institute where the criminally insane are housed?” she asked.
“Precisely so.”
“And the Gravelords?”
“Ah, yes,” the Custodian said. She got laboriously to her feet and Jordan realized her stooped body was paining her more than usual. “Walk with me, Daughter. If I sit too long, the discomfort grows.”
Jordan stood and hooked her arm through the old woman’s. The Custodian covered Jordan’s hand with crippled fingers. They took the cobblestone path away from the fountain.
“Gravelords,” the Custodian said. “They are a breed unto themselves. It wasn’t until recently on Terra that we learned of their existence. It was as much of a surprise to us as it was to the three Ridgelords who are assigned to that backward world. Imagine our shock when we learned the warrior on Terra was not the only Gravelord in existence.”
“Do they fear him on Terra?” she asked.
“They are leery of him,” was the reply. “And rightfully so for he has the attributes of not only the Shadowlords but the Reapers, as well.”
“Reapers?” she said and jerked to a stop, causing the old woman to stagger. “They are part Reaper?”
“Indeed, Daughter,” the Custodian said.
“How can that be?” Jordan queried.
“We thought at first we had the Triune Goddess to thank for their creation, but it could be the Father-God who brought them into existence.” The Custodian shrugged. “As yet we are uncertain of just how they came to be.”
Jordan felt a cold finger drag down her spine. “They can shapeshift like the Reapers?”
“Yes.”
“And need blood to—” She shuddered. “To exist.”
“To thrive,” the Custodian corrected. “They don’t partake of what they call Sustenance for the enjoyment of it. No more so than taking the drug called tenerse that keeps t
hem to a strict schedule of Transitioning for the narcotic effect it has.”
“Transitioning?”
“Shifting to their animal form.”
“What kind of Reaper is he?” Jordan asked, for she’d learned more about the warriors than she’d ever wanted to know when one had come to visit the Sanctuary earlier that Cycle. She knew there were three—Lupine, Hell-Hound, and Panthera.
“Lupine, I believe, but I am not entirely sure. The Great Oracle has not been all that forthcoming about this particular man. All we know is his name.”
“Which is?”
“Rhyman Cade,” the Custodian answered. “He hails from Ildathach in the Aneas Quadrant of the Ainmhi Galaxy.”
“That is a long way from here,” Jordan said.
“A very long way, Daughter,” the Custodian agreed. “It says much that he is willing to make such a journey to find what he seeks.”
Jordan watched the Custodian laboriously making her way up the cobblestone path. Raisha Montyne was the closest thing she had to a mother now and she deeply respected her. If she was forced to leave Sanctuary, go with the despicable male—the wretched Shadowlord, Gravelord or whatever the hell he was—she would lose the only thing close to a family she had. She would truly be alone and helpless to return to those she loved. Her life would become one long, miserable journey from which she would never be able to find happiness and security ever again.
And all because of the Shadowlord-Reaper hybrid coming to make her his chattel, his sex slave, his doormat. She’d known it was she for whom he was coming the moment she heard he was on his way. That sixth sense she possessed in such abundance was working overtime. It was screaming at her to run.
“I hate you,” she said to the heavens. “You pompous, greedy, lecherous mage! I hate you with all my being. May you roast in hell!”
The bastard wanted a Life-Mate? No, he wanted a brood mare! A carrier, an incubator of his vile seed.